


Wish You Were the One That Got Away

by Pixeled



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Fear, Love, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Regret, mentions of past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 19:47:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixeled/pseuds/Pixeled
Summary: Oh, he wished. He wished he was the one that got away.





	Wish You Were the One That Got Away

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested listening: The Civil Wars - The One That Got Away

The look on Vincent’s face when Veld gave the orders to send him away from Midgar to the cold climate and ever colder misgivings of Nibelheim was one that would stay in Veld’s mind for years to come. His normally cold red eyes had surged with emotion, tears unshed. Veld knew Vincent loved him, would follow him to the ends of the world. He knew it, and that’s why he sent him away. Verdot Dragoon, who never shied from any danger, who never backed down, was backing down from what he felt.

Vincent never asked why. Veld pretended he didn’t care, didn’t want to know the reason why. Made him sign the orders. Vincent’s scrawl across the page with Veld’s prized fountain pen inked into his heart, stabbed a staccato that beat in time to his hurt.

Years before, when he took Vincent into his bed, shaking and wet from the rain, his father’s death still clinging to him like a discordant piano tune, Veld held onto him like he was something precious, fragile.

Vincent was always something fragile beneath the wiry lines of his violence. He killed like a machine, they said, but Veld knew how it affected him. Was the only one who knew how he’d buried the bodies after, sprinkled the earth just so, and sobbed into the dirt. Veld had been there the first time, when Vincent vomited bile into the porcelain of his toilet, lost in the violence, the regret. Everyone always assumed Vincent shot first, asked questions later. They didn’t know how it made him sharp, saddened. They didn’t see the ache in his bones, the desperation for affection.

Vincent could get high on every little bit of the simplest of Veld’s affections, begging for the slightest touch. His eyes could be _so _red, like fresh spilled blood on the powder snow of his pale face. Veld was the only one to see his eyes clouded, unfocused, hazy and _so so _very red.

Of course Veld loved him. Of course that scared him. He wished he’d never seen Vincent’s face. Missed the way Vincent wanted him, missed the way he stayed just out of reach. But he always came back to Vincent.

Now it was too much. The regret was too great.

The missing person file on Veld’s desk was filed away too quickly, too carefully.

For years to come, he’d come back to that file, to the angry red eyes in the picture in the file. That was the day Grimoire died, the day Vincent’s life was irrevocably changed. When Veld took him away.

Then he sent him away like he was nothing.

Oh, he wished. He wished he was the one that got away.


End file.
